Redefining The Main Objective
by A Road Unturning
Summary: As friend or foe, they come into each other's worlds. And each time, they seem to stay.  A series of Yoshimitsu/Raven ficlets
1. Meeting

_Disclaimer – I claim no ownership of Tekken. As much as I would dearly like to._

_This is a multi chapter/ficlet/drabble fan fiction focusing on the characters and interactions of Yoshimitsu and Raven. Each ficlet shall be AU and may occasionally vary in events and characterisation. Slash is present, but the majority of it is implied and can be read without the subtext. In some chapters, it shall be stronger. These will all come clearly marked._

_Special chapter!tribute to Razor Athane._

_Meeting_

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They debrief him. Provide him with co-ordinates, a selection of their most elite soldiers, and orders.

The Manji clan have stolen a treasure most beneficial to their investigation. And as befitting fate, they too, shall steal it back.

Raven leads his task force, and prepares for the mission. On one of his previous assignments, he recalls a draw between himself and an elaborately dressed self proclaimed ninja thief. He swiftly makes the connection, and draws from it a stab of amusement. He can predict the enemy's attack.

The Manji lair is situated in a freezing oblivion, on a lone island simply dubbed "Kingan Isle." The snow is so deep it soaks the bottoms of Raven's boots, and even he frowns at the frosty bite clinging to the lingering chill. His men perform admirably, although they shiver and swear in secret, away from the reflective shades of their stern commander.

They find the opening at the foot of Kingan Mountain; a secluded gate decked in dozy firelight and red drapes. To Raven's confusion, there are no guards present. Anyone passing would merely deem this place a sacred meeting point; perhaps a temple for some ice hardy monks, maybe?

But Raven knows better.

He has always known better.

He warns his men not to let down their guard, and taking in his surroundings with a painstaking attention to detail, they penetrate the upper sanctum of the lair.

At first, the inside is dark; hung with a worrisome quiet.

Raven lifts his finger, and signals for his men to proceed into the cavernous hallways.

A careless recruit withdraws his gun from his belt. His fingers fumble, and in his confusion, his thumb finds the trigger.

It's as if someone has flipped a switch.

Incoming tsunamis of warriors emerge from the concealing clasp of shadow.

The Manji clan are a group of highly skilled solders, harbouring more combat knowledge then the Zaibatsu's personal elite, and it isn't long before Raven can see his men beginning to struggle. It is a forest of heaving bodies, of hopeless gunshots and cries cut short.

The ninja's are dressed in black, faces hidden by symbolic masks and bodies padded with heavy armour. They merge into the blackness with effortless ease, swiping out outstretched hands and hurling his men into the darkness.

Raven beats them down with his fists, although the troops keep streaming in nightmarish droves and he won't allow the very thought of surrender...

You need an entire army to infiltrate this fortress.

"What's all this, then?"

A grand voice, dense with instrumentality and a heavy dose of threat. A voice for Kings that hide as jesters.

He reaches for his shrunken, only to have a blade clank down upon it with such force it shatters. Yoshimitsu, famed leader of the clan, cranks his sword lightly against Raven's neck. The clumsy, richly toned heckler from his memory is not present here. The creature glowers at him with burning holes for eyes; two swollen suns that see to the back of his head.

"Fight with all you have," He whispers.

Pride is a rare indulgence for Raven, but he is suddenly seized with a volcanic urge to prove his skills to this man, and with a hiss of breath, his left hand dives for his blade. Metal clashes against metal in a rough reciprocation of his challenge.

His men are missing, he is alone, surrounded in a circle of enemy forces and duelling against a thing which seems to be neither demon nor human, but it as if he has been possessed by the ridiculous notions of old age honour, of the iron will and suffrage of the legendary warriors of past. Their memories and strength colours the air, woven into the crumbling walls of the old clan hideout, and Raven, for that singular fight, cannot resist it.

Before hand, they had battled to a draw. Now, Yoshimitsu is fuelled by the awe of his captive crowd, for it is rare for his brothers and sisters to witness their leader in battle. He takes on the foolish boy, secretly impressed by his poweress, but such things are not to be indulged long.

Raven is breathing hard – his sight is sick and dizzy and the world rocks as he is lambasted onto his back. A blade grazes the jut of his chin, and above him, Yoshimitsu is silhouetted by firelight; a gruesome saint of carnage.

"Thou didst quite well," He exclaims, a rumbling chuckle scuttling beneath his words. The clan members snicker at this display; the sound is tinged with an ethereal, drifting quality. Raven feels a growl crawl into his throat. He is under the impression he is being mocked, and on the floor, the first touches of sense begin to scurry back into his thoughts. His behaviour had been reckless, and although he hated to admit it, foolish.

"We thank thee for such wondrous entertainment," Yoshimitsu continues, spreading his arms in a mock bow. "It tis' been too long since myself and my men have encountered such skill."

Raven's lip curls.

"But..." Yoshimitsu's words are chipped with brittle impatience. "Thou hast seen enough."

Raven doesn't see him move, but something blunt impacts on the back of his head. Yoshimitsu and his men become lost in a cloaking of his senses.

When he awakens, he is back at HQ. They stammer at his questions, revealing that he was found wrapped in a heated blanket in the snow just beside Kingan Mountain. No entrance to any hideout was found, but someone had supplied him with food and water and dressed his wounds with extreme care.

He inquires about his men. They pale and say he was the only one to return.

A week later, reports filed by an investigator reveal the Manji Clan have recently relinquished their ranks with some highly trained recruits. On a raid on the Mishima Zaibatsu, Raven discovers one of these new elites fighting alongside the clan members. It is one of his old men, who glances at him curiously, but doesn't answer to name and refuses any recognition.

After that, Raven calls off all investigation into the Manji clan matters. He fights the memory of blood stirring calls to battle, of burning coals pulsating in silent challenge, and a rusty chuckle that chases his dreams in restless circles until it finally renders him sleepless.


	2. Training

_Training_

_._

_._

_._

He breathes in deep – _1, 2, 3, 4 – _and releases, allowing nature to sharpen around his senses. He grazes his bare soles across grass tinged with morning dew; draws his fingers together to form the first signs of the Kuji-in, chanting the sacred rite under his breath.

He can hear the giddy bubble of a babbling brook, the sharp sweep of wind darting amongst golden leaves, and the _crack _of breaking grass beneath his feet. He closes his eyes tight, concentrating on the ebb and flow of the world around him. He imagines it seeping into his karma; strengthening and tightening the link between body and will.

Above him, something rustles in the leafy undergrowth.

His brow furrows.

A presence is near. He thinks of his company subordinates, camping about half a mile away, but this aura pulses with a jittering life he can't define.

"Thy stance is incorrect."

A voice, husky with jovial glee, rattles into his ear.

He turns on his heel, joins his hands together and thrusts them forward in an emergency attack.

Nothing. They push uselessly against empty air.

Growling, he straightens up and heads back to the main base. If he cannot sense an intruder at such close proximity, then he certainly needs more training.

Anyway, there wasn't anything _wrong _with his stance.


	3. Tea

_Disclaimer – Don't own Tekken._

_Thank you, Wiggins. _

_**Tea**_

Yoshimitsu's choice of teas is atrocious. The Manji leader...or so Raven assumes...is a well travelled man, and so has a seasoned and varied taste when it comes to beverage.

Unfortunately, this "seasoned" and "varied" taste consists of the most aching sweetness that no tooth should ever be subjected to.

Raven likes his tea strong enough to stand a spoon in, and certainly not with the molar rotting molasses Yoshimitsu seems to favour.

"My my, young one," The ninja tsks, clinking his spoon on the cracked side of his flowered cup. "So picky about what thee likes."

"I don't care for tea that could cause a diabetes epidemic."

In his hands, Raven houses a humble mug of green tea. His lip twitches at Yoshimitsu's scrutiny; the other man is leaning back on his chair, his shinobi sandals propped dangerously close to his lap. He is being mercifully quiet, but his eyes are twinkling.

Raven cannot help but let his gaze fall to the concealed mouth. Each time he steals a look into Yoshimitsu's cup, a little more of the liquid is missing.

Once upon a time, this would have initiated a frustrated gaff of laughter, but the clan leader lowers the mighty dome of his masked head and chuckles merrily.

"So full of silent questions, child..."

"Always," is Raven's dry reply. He places his mug on the side.

It's gone cold.


	4. Kunimitsu P1

_Disclaimer – Don't own Tekken._

_**Kunimitsu – Part 1.**_

The woman has snuck in, unnoticed.

The clan has been celebrating a successful plunder. There is wine and good food and song, so rustic and base in nature that even Raven feels the pull of its contagious warmth. It seems such atmosphere is fulfilling for the soul. Even in the dark caverns of the Manji hideaway, the walls are furnished with worn finery, hung with old tapestries and war trophies, and the place is lit by the ethereal glow of candlelight.

The men have gathered in the middle of the main hall in a joyous cluster. They raise goblets swimming with scented wine (stolen from Heihachi's personal store) and the air is thick with a ripe, age old magic. Yoshimitsu is weaving between all his men, new and old, and praising their bravery in the rich orchestration of his voice.

From his corner, Raven observes the festivities in his usual, cool quiet. A few of the clan have waved to him, heckled with slurring vowels, but their eyes are bright and affectionate and Raven forces down a twitch in his mouth.

Yoshimitsu turns his attention to his right hand man, and inclines his head in a "come hither" gesture. The emerald pinpricks of his eyes blink and swirl with the agitated energy of rouge fireflies. How a man – if he _is _a man- can resemble a glorified samurai skeleton, complete with a _tail bone_...and yet still emit the same amount of hearty kindness, is a enigma only worthy of the universe.

Raven remains still, and at face value, unmoved. The men surrounding their leader have quieted, a bolder few smiling and exchanging glances, complete with the knowledge that if anyone can coax their newest stoic recruit from his solitary corner, it is their persuasive and charismatic leader.

Raven takes in a deep breath, and fixing the now chuckling Manji leader with a wary eye, goes to move.

A knife slinks beneath his armour, and sinks into his side.

A sudden stinging chill cuts through the surrounding party like premature winter, and despite the hot stickiness of the blood congealing around his fresh wound, his flesh is cold. He hadn't heard her approach. _Him..._Raven, the talon of death, feared for his accuracy and intellect...had not heard this one woman sneak from behind for the kill.

The leader's stance has changed.

"_Harridan..."_ Yoshimitsu spits, his voice a hate filed rasp, although his tone quivers as she gives the knife another hard twist. She snickers. Throbbing streaks of pain bolt down Raven's side. He cannot move, not with her blade in his back, and she forces him to his knees. How had he not...

Yoshimitsu has straightened up, bringing forth fearsome authority that demands respect from all, but the shining specks of his eyes flicker to the restrained man to the ground, and then back again, once more, to Kunimitsu.

The years have not done their terrible dance, or have done it enough to his liking. She is dressed in her purple warrior garb, dark hair spilling down her back, still sporting the mask of the fox – a tricky and agile animal, and one not to be trusted.

_It tis' be the fox that slaughters the helpless chicks._

"You thought..." Her voice, soft yet harsh. Forever haughty. Just as he remembered. Such a proud, ruthless little woman. His fingers brush his scabbard. "That I would disappear? Leave, for a humble existence? As you demanded of me?"

Blood polishes her blade. He focuses on it, and imagines the life juices of this treacherous snake seeping into his eternally thirsty sword. His weapon would not be the only thing to relish such a thing.

"I showed thee mercy," He hisses. His men retreat back into an obedient circle. This is his battle, and he will not be humiliated in front of his clan. "A privilege thou have _forfeited."_

"It is one I never asked for," She drawls. Her hand loosens, ever so slightly, on Raven's hip. "The very sound of it insults me."

The man on the floor falls into silence. He closes his eyes, and waits.

"You did me a grave ill," Kunimitsu continues darkly. She rests her hand once more on her blade. Yoshimitsu stiffens; a sudden _screech _of metal against silver reveals his half sheathed sword. "And now..." She laughs, glancing down at his comrade in arms. She cocks her head in a veiled amusement, and beneath his mask, Yoshimitsu grimaces. She _knows._ "I'm returning the favour."

Raven twists, grabbing at her arm and hurling her over his shoulder. He chokes back a yell as the dagger is wrenched from his side, and it is only then he spots the growing circle of blood pooling on his clothes in a dark stain.

She somersaults in midair and lands, catlike, on the ground.

Yoshimitsu cuts through her back in a flash of steel. She shrieks in agony, diving for her own weapon, only to have the entire clan rush to their leader's defence. In a dash of purple, she blurs past them and is gone through the mighty doors.

"Insolent girl..." Yoshimitsu roars. He signals the chase to his men, who bow in compliance and make haste through the door.

Weakness seizes Raven's limbs. The wound is shallow, but his blood loss is increasing. With a grunt, he falls to one knee. The candlelight wavers in his sight, sinking into a stuttering orange mesh.

A different hand moves across his shoulder. He's turned on his back, and a piece of torn cloth is pressed against his wound.

"You had me worried, friend." He tries to press away from the man's touch – Yoshimitsu's spatial awareness leaves a little to be desired- but he refuses to relent, as if he wants to confirm that Raven is breathing and real.

"It's nothing," His breathing is heavy. So is his voice. He fights to keep his eyes open. "I've had worse."

"That vile creature," Yoshimitsu's iron clad fingers crush into Raven's arm. His brow creases with the impact, but he is finding it hard to speak. "She looks to remove anything precious to Yoshimitsu."

Raven falls silent.

Yoshimitsu swivels his attentions once more to the man in his grasp, but says no more, and treats the wound.


	5. Kunimitsu P2  The Cold at Kingan Isle

_Taking a break from my numerous Tekken projects/ fics in progress to upload this update. Who else is madly hyped about Kunimitsu's reappearance? _

_Warning – This contains strong currents of past!Yoshi/Kuni. _

_Disclaimer – I own nothing. _

The Cold at Kingan Isle

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That evening, the clouds wove themselves together in a black mesh; snow, blinding and freezing and cruel, covered the land in arctic sheets. Even buried underground, deep below rock and cavern and creek, the air is thin and moist with the outside ice.

Raven despises the climate, even if he has bequeathed his silent fealty to the King of this snow infested wasteland. He's been placed in the back room of Yoshimitsu's personal chambers, where his injuries have been bathed and painfully bound. The blankets are weighed down with heated pads, soothing the brunt of his scabbing wounds, but the atmosphere pulsates with a merciless cool and he shivers and sweats with fever.

The darkness around him is tight and swollen, punctured by the weak flutters of candlelight. Raven had once thought he'd understood darkness, had operated only within it, and claimed to be its sole agent and ally. But here, miles beneath ground surrounded by men and woman encased in shadows of countless traditions and histories of dried blood, did he find that he had only begun to understand the inky nuances spun within the places where light did not touch.

He shifts himself, but the cuts strain with the effort and he swears, baring his teeth at the ceiling. Sleep, if any, had been fitful and light, tinged with feverish nightmares and the white face of a glaring cat.

A shape shimmers into view.

Yoshimitsu has been watching him for some time. He is prone, flea stance, on his sword. The shadows mask his body from view, and his head must be lowered, for Raven fails to spy the bloody blink of his eyes.

"How are you faring?"

No "thou" or thee." The infamous voice is quieter, drawn more together, as if its very core is pressed upon with an inconceivable gravity. Raven doesn't mind. These spare moments, where the leader of the Manji clan speaks to him with no propriety, are the most honest. And Raven always appreciated, even at the beginning, the stark and facile nature of simple intel.

"It's fine." He curls his fingers to shield the sweat on his palms. "Give me a day. Or simply a night. The depth of the wound is shallow, missing vital organs. By morning I…"

"You will not be going anywhere," It's barely a whisper. But it is strapped with such an intense finality Raven, on impulse, closes his mouth. "You will stay here until it is fully healed. You will not move. You will be serviced morning, noon and night. It will be bathed on a daily basis. You are to drink water and only eat a simple diet. You shall take any medicine I give. You are to be watched and protected."

A silence. The candlelight flickers, as if stuttered by heavy breaths.

The blade creaks as Yoshimitsu adjusts himself. Even in the half light, his very being seems to thrum with a jittering energy.

"You can't keep me here."

"I can." The grand head is still hidden from view. Raven scowls. "And you _know_ I can."

"I'm not bound by you," Raven struggles upright; the bandage catches and unravels. Pain rips through his side, sprouting a fresh trickle of sweat, and what feels like the warm bloom of blood. He grits his teeth, the room swarming into a blur of shadow and candlelight and the man he cannot see. "I am not one your subordinates, Yoshimitsu. You cannot order me to…"

"Foolish child!" The blade is a green strip in the darkness; an armored hand pushes at the centre of his chest. He is sent hurtling back onto the bed. "You'll open your wounds."

Raven braces his arm on the bed, and glowers in Yoshimitsu's direction. The pain is still intense, but he steadies his breathing and he will not, under any circumstances, leave this situation unattended.

"You know the reason I came here," He says slowly. He's panting hard. "You know…why I gave _that_ up. The organization." He narrows his eyes. There are times he misses his shades. Without them, emotion can feel too bare, too open and stark. "I came here of my own free will, Yoshimitsu. To be an _equal._"

A silence.

"Not another underdog."

The figure opposite remains still, and so far, speechless. Raven's eyelids shudder closed, and in his agonized state, his fingers fumble the bandages. They're damp with fresh blood. He grunts, turning on his side. The wall is a freezing but distracting force against his burning temples.

Another silence.

"My apologies, Raven."

For a moment, he almost sounds like a man. Raven crushes the blankets beneath his fist.

There is a metallic snap as Yoshimitsu sheaths his sword. The soft tread of his sandals on the ground, and then, a warm, wet cloth is laid on the wound. Carefully, the bandages are unpicked and removed. Raven shakes with the sensations, but doesn't resist.

"Shall I tell you a story, young one?"

Raven scoffs at the old nickname.

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"It is a most remarkable tale."

"Indeed. I'm injured and bed bound. This hardly seems fair."

Raven senses the edges of a smile, but there is a heaviness strangling the throes of Yoshimitsu's tone so he sighs and stills. It's enough of a gesture to initiate the laying down of the first aid supplies and the creak of the chair beside the bed. Raven continues to face the wall, but Yoshimitsu knows he is listening.

"It was years ago, before my brothers and sisters and I came to dwell in the mountains. We haven't always resided here, with the blinding droves of snow and ice as our sanctuary. Our home was the forest; the dusk and damp of the undergrowth was our battle ground, and so it had been for hundreds of years.

"It was during the raid of a specifically vile organization that I happened across a young female thief. Newly skilled in Ninjitsu, she was as light fingered as the brush of a feather and just as graceful. She was a stoic thing, as solitary as locked treasure boxes and as cold and as lovely as gold."

"Poetic." Raven rocks his head into the pillow. Yoshimitsu once more reaches for the first aid and begins to cleanse his cuts.

"Hmm. During _that_ time, then yes, I think she would have inspired poetry. But she was non-committal, a lone wolf, disinterested in the schemes and missions of the Manji. Despite her nonsocial desires, I pursued her relentlessly. Finally, I managed to persuade her to join the clan, and in doing so, I hoped that my actions had provided her with a home to placate her restless spirit. To have such a splendid and prodigious talent under my wing…I was full of pride at my own cleverness at ensnaring such a creature. And what plans I had for her…"

He pauses. The cloth, dense with blood and water, is squeezed out between the metal groves of his fists. Raven goes to turn over, but a gentle hand pushes him back into position.

"You don't have to do that." He lies fully on his side again, hissing with the sting. Yoshimitsu ignores what Raven can only guess as what he sees as a foolish comment, and continues with his story.

"She rose naturally through the ranks. In battle, she outranked even my most elite warriors. I become increasingly eager to earn her complete trust. And it wasn't until I'd appointed her as my second in command, did she finally open up and seek out my company willingly. My second in command became my sole confidante. In time she even began to share my quarters."

Yoshimitsu takes a deep, shuddering breath, and lays his hand on the middle of Raven's back. With a carefully calculated force of impact, he holds down his palm and stems the bleeding.

"Hm." Raven frowns. His sight is fuzzy and sick, but the realization cuts through him in a precise stab of clarity. "She saw you without your mask."

Barely a hair of breath, but then…

"Yes. Yes, she saw me. And I will freely admit, but only to you my friend, that I was hopelessly enamored. The revered and dignified member of the Manji…taken apart so ceaselessly by the sheer sight and intimacy of another human being. Love, as I'd come to believe over the years, or at least for one singular person, was something droll and banal. Can one imagine devoting oneself entirely to someone else and their wellbeing? To completely quell one's personal freedoms for such fleeting, fragile happiness? Foolish! And I'd seen from a distance how such absurd emotions had made fools of men. And yet, I began to understand it. Need it. Crave it."

He releases a dull, frazzled laugh. It's monotonous, husky, and too hollow for inspiring any joviality. Raven is certain Yoshimitsu's fingers are leaving visible, red imprints of his back. Once upon a time, he would have been disdainful of such a story, but that time is not now and he doubt it will ever be again.

"You loved her," Raven props himself up on his elbows, but keeps his eyes turned down and away from Yoshimitsu. "It isn't exactly a science." His brow furrows. "But indulging such emotions can have a bitter cost."

"Bitter, it was," Yoshimitsu's voice has begun to retain its ageless, unreadable darkness and the man behind the mask is once again being swallowed by the legend. "I was blinded. Blinded by pride and affection and love. I loved her too much to begin to see the signs. It was only when I chose to humour my men by waiting by the vault come the cover of night. Only then did I see why our stocks were low and the innocent were suffering more than what fate had originally planned for them."

His words creep in scores of breathy, black fury, singed with the edges of Yoshimitsu's rare but infamous temper. Raven doesn't interrupt, but keeps his mind veiled and his body still.

"For there was _she,_ hauling away our hard earned treasures and the bounties we'd collected for the poor and helpless. For there was _she_, slaughtering the vows of our ancient clan and driving daggers into the heart that had bled and believed and bestowed upon her such love that she would _never _understand."

Yoshimitsu catches his breath, and once again, continues. The chair creaks, and from the corner of his eye, Raven spies his hands reaching up to cradle the majestic head hidden in shadow.

"My rage, Raven. It knew no bounds. I was vindicated, all my benevolence clouded by a new passion; hatred. I dragged her out in front of the clan. She'd been silent, and for one brief euphoric moment, I thought she was contrite. That her heart was heavy for breaking mine. But she was quiet because she didn't _care_. She mocked me, mocked my feelings and my naivety and my failings, in front of the members that I loved as my own family. Humiliated, I turned her out. Forbade her return on pain of death. Her banishment was infinite but my reasoning was unjust. She hadn't murdered any fellow clan member, nor threatened any innocents. She deserved expulsion, for she was a scoundrel and betrayer, but not with the added gravity of a death sentence. But my anger and heartbreak was my only counsel, and I its avid listener."

"A year passed. She made a name for herself as a most excellent bounty hunter and hired thief, but never did she stray back to our leafy dwelling or challenge me to a duel while I rode my horse amongst the trees. This should have annulled my anxieties, but inside I was _stewing_. Nothing would have pleased me more than gaining an excuse to face her once again, to carve into her the humiliations and heartbreaks I had been forced to endure. And I can tell from your silence, Raven…"

He utters another frustrated gaff of laughter, but Raven remains motionless, noting the first tearing twinges of desperation in the leader's tone.

"…that you perceive these emotions as foolhardy, and yes they were. I was a selfish creature, a slave to my passions, as I always have been to some extent. I didn't have the calming waters of your wisdom to rein in my madness. For maybe if I did have your grounding presence, I wouldn't have done what I did next."

A fresh bandage is laid across the cooling heat of Raven's wounds. His body sags in relief. Yoshimitsu's touch is deft, feather light, as he softly binds it.

"It was then that I came across some information regarding an aging relative of hers. He was a blacksmith; an esteemed collector of swords and instruments of battle. He'd rambled to his granddaughter about finally being able to analyze my weapon, which was a cursed relic and so was impossible to duplicate. These desires were nothing more than the fading fever dreams of an elderly man. They bore no weight. But my pride was too great, my anger too rife with smugness that I could finally, _finally _hold her accountable for something, that she had slipped back into my power, even just by an inch. Triumphant, I sent out my scouts to silence such a "threat to our existence," as I'd hailed it to my clan. If there were any that doubted me, they did not say. It was only later, when my men arrived back with blood on their hands, awaiting praise and glory, did my sobriety return in a freezing gush. I had knowingly given the order for the murder of a helpless, harmless old man."

His words fall to a whisper.

"And yes. I had her again. I'd killed her only living relative, the man who'd raised her, and the only person she'd ever loved and admired. That night, she found him. And that night, she flung herself on the clan with all the gracelessness of a blind beast. Her skills were frightening, her appetite for carnage and retribution dwarfing any vague feeling she'd kept from me in the past. She took my men down in their hundreds. She was a lady of war, beautiful and terrifying and _mine._ "

The tape on the bandage snaps. It relays, striking the wound, and Raven swears, the muscles in his shoulders craning and clenching. Yoshimitsu's palm floors into Raven's back with a sudden, acute speed, and the rebound of the mattress almost jolts Raven's senses. But Yoshimitsu's voice is quiet once again, humbled with memory, and a weariness that suddenly speaks of surprising age.

"We fought. I knocked away her mask and scarred her so deeply, that she, like me, was fated to hide behind porcelain and metal and wood. I defeated her until there was but a hint of breath lining her lips. I didn't grant her the mercy of death. Instead, with an insulting pity, I banished her. All our passions, so raw and fierce and brutal, dissipated between us on that day. Our disappointments, our hates, our regrets, thickened the air between us in a mutual lock. The forest floor was smeared with her blood. As she left, I found no longer any solace in the nature that had witnessed my downfall. Instead, I insisted on the bleak, isolated plains of our Manji valleys. The cold tore through me and froze the crushing modesty of her pains into my chest. I looked out upon the icy plains and it made me remember the clear grey of her eyes."

His wounds are freshly dressed, the gauze well supported and the heated pads set in place. As Yoshimitsu draws back his hands, his fingers brush the bumps of Raven's knuckles.

"It chills me now, friend. Even with the passing of decades, the anchor of memory refuses to sink." The timbres of his voice begins to shrivel and fail, seeming to choke on the words.

At that, Raven swivels himself around fully, ignoring the petrifying pang of his battle injuries. The amber flecked gloom finally calms, settling into soft lines, and he can finally see.

Yoshimitsu's mask has been placed by the chair. The Manji leader's fingers conceal his face from view, but black hair, as dark as the night sky itself, frame his neck and fall over his hands.

And the mask is but a hindrance, for the man known as Yoshimitsu sobs and shakes in silent, stricken tears, his shoulders slumped with the freezing press of memory and the cold of Kingan Isle. Raven observes in the dim, indistinct cushion of candlelight, and when the head rises, he doesn't look away.


	6. Infinity

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_Disclaimer – Don't own Tekken._

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He feels like time.

Time, so heavily pressed upon with the age of the past and yet lifted by the youth of future, held together by the sweet fasten of the present. Yoshimitsu is time, for he is without age, for he has _been_ so long and will continue to be, until the world is ripped to dust and silence and light shall cast itself upon what was once was.

His essence may pass from body to body (and surely, some flesh does last longer than others) and the dark secrets sleeping within the sword allow memories to remain intact, although some are prone to haze and confusion.

But alas, such power remains cradled within human hosts and with each of his differing lives him and his magic is exposed to a human heart. The core of him, the core of Yoshimitsu, as he has come to realise, is the desire for the heat of mild, merciful humanity.

Over the centuries, he has loved his comrades like beloved siblings. Lovers, friends, brothers and sisters in arms. They flock into his presence, lingering like the faint, awakening warmth of spring, before they melt like snowflakes on hot hands and flee into the mists of his memories. He wraps their words, their spirits, their faces and voices and touches within himself, and allows their strength to purge the sickness in his sword when the dark strangles him into doubt.

But there is something strange about this man.

This man, this living tower, whom has known strife; has had it carved into his very skin. This _child, _barely a sapling in comparison to the mighty orchards of Yoshimitsu's spiritual years, has managed to stand the world still and for the first time in hundreds of years, Yoshimitsu feels like he is living. Not in the dusty clasp of the past, or in the bright splutters of the future, but _now._

The man is stubborn. The man is silent. He is skilled and composed and careful. He is sardonic and cocky and prone to smug arrogance. Not to mention the ignorance of such a creature; he eyes the heirloom of Yoshimitsu as if it were a charlatan's dagger.

But despite the spurs of youth, he is wise. A common, earthy wisdom, trickling like the cool kiss of a mountain stream on a dry, groggy day. Despite the shades of his previous occupation, he knows compassion, even if he once buried it deep and set himself as stone. Kindness, even if it is stern, restrained, comes naturally to him and he is always the first to stand between the wicked and the innocent.

Yoshimitsu can, is the only one, who can coax humor from him.

When Yoshimitsu thinks of what came before, of what was done before, to a child separated from a family and taken underground to skulk in white washed walls in an amoral organization, in which there was violence and injections and slow, painful erosion of emotion, does his eyes blaze and his fingers tinker on the edge of his blade.

But even under such conditions, the man's character was not completely extinguished. Proud to a fault, devoted to his passions for battle, and insanely critical of any that tarnished his narrow view of their shared arts! A challenge indeed and one Yoshimitsu had greedily undertaken. But he was always so quick to steal away all that took his fancy. And much to his shame, all the gold in the world did little to accommodate his unique appetite.

In an odd way, he'd acquired his greatest treasure. And yet, in turn, something has also been stolen from him. Unknowingly, with innocent eyes, but gone it is and never to return.

One day, Raven shall die. This is an inescapable fact of the universe. Soon, skin and soul will shrivel and fall to a rest that only the weary can feel. And soon, the man shall falter and be locked in the thinning stitch of memory. Another companion, another friend, another small ripple in time and place. And Yoshimitsu, as he always will and always shall, will continue to remain.

He wonders when the end finally comes, when time finally strips the world bare, if he manages, if he _can_, to search inside the gape of infinity for that one single soul and bind it to him.

"This isn't the time for daydreaming." Raven pokes the fire. They are out in the wilderness, crouched beneath sky and stars. His voice is gruff and without fear. "We need to concentrate on the plans ahead."

Yoshimitsu folds the map and smiles.

"Of course. Forgive me; this mission has been tiring me of late."

And suddenly, he feels old.


End file.
